


The Boy Wonder

by dafnesway



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Dick Grayson is Robin, Robin centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2018-08-08 00:38:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7736308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dafnesway/pseuds/dafnesway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I want to come with you"<br/>Of all the things a kid who just found out his adoptive father is Batman could have said, Bruce was not expecting that.<br/>"No," he growls, "that's out of the question"<br/>[...] "You told me a hero could me anyone"<br/>"You're nine"</p><p>or my take on the origin story of dick grayson (and maybe more to come later)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Flying Graysons

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Firework](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/220672) by paganpunk2. 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary takes her son’s place on John’s hands, they swing forward, towards their boy, and right when everyone holds their breath-  
> Something snaps.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm planning to cover from the Flying Graysons to Robin going after Zucco and settling down with Bruce. I reeeeally hope you guys like it because I did put a lot of effort into it, after all, I absolutely love Dick Grayson :)

Gotham is a city famous for its corruption, filthiness and absurdly high crime rate. It is dark, scary and big; a place where children can’t play alone in the streets and women shouldn’t go out past eight. And yet, when Haly circus is in town, it seems to become something else entirely. Word spreads about the act of one of the best family of acrobats to have existed, and the rumors say one of them is _nine years old_ and one of the few people capable of performing a quadruple somersault.

The rumors are true.

Dick Grayson, age nine, aerialist, a prodigy. Getting yelled at by his parents.

“It should go without saying you’re grounded, but let me say it anyway. You’re grounded. Indefinitely” Mary Grayson crosses her arms, maybe to look sterner, maybe to collect herself. “You almost got hit _by a train_. You almost got Raymond get hit by a train”.

“That wasn’t my fault!” he whined, “Raymond was the one who pushed the officer”

“And you were the one who jumped _in front of a train_ ” her husband John sighed, “what were you even thinking?”

“I was just trying to save the guy from getting runned over! Besides, I’ve already apologized like a hundred times, I don’t know why you guys are making such a big-“

“ _Because_ ” Dick flinched slightly at his father’s tone, he really hadn’t expect them to be so angry at him, it wasn’t like they didn’t know how Raymond and him played on the cities they visited, “…you don’t get to run around doing whatever you want and _ignoring_ the things you don’t want to deal with, Dick. Life doesn’t work like that! People have to take responsibility for their actions. You can’t always be moving forward, no matter how much you want to be. This discussion is over, young man, you hear me? Now get in your costume quickly, we’ve already missed practice for rescuing you from the police”

“ _Okay_ , okay” he watches as John gets out of the tent, then looks at his mother expecting more reprimands.

Instead, she takes her hands off her face and hugs him. “Damn it, Dick, did it ever even crossed your mind that you could’ve _died?”_ her son huffs in surprise as she strokes his black soft hair, “what would we have done then?”

“I’m sorry” he whispers. Again. “I won’t ever jump in front of a train again; promise”

Mary laughs; the sound lighting up the atmosphere instantly. “C’mon, get ready, this is an important night, you know why?”

“Because it’s the last show in Gotham?”

“No, because _Bruce Wayne_ is here” she winks at him, “now hurry, I promised this man we would take a picture with his family earlier,” she starts leaving the tent, “...and you're still grounded!”

__

There's something in the thrill right before performing that makes Dick forget all his troubles —and he's probably not the only one; his parents don't seem angry at him anymore—, he forgets about the train and police fiasco, he forgets about that man yelling to Mr. Haley he saw outside, he forgets he missed practice. He just smiles.

In the crowd, a little boy around four years old smiles too. He clenches a photograph in his small hands. His parents thought he may be too young for the circus, but they were immediately proven wrong when he gave that huge grin to the camera in the arms of Dick Grayson. When Jack knew what the young acrobat could do, he made Mary Grayson promise him a picture.

Janet laughs at her son and hugs him closer, her concerns about the boy's age thrown away. “Are you having fun, Timmy?” 

Before he can answer, C. C. Haley, the ringmaster, brings back their attention. He talks about Dick Grayson, age nine, aerialist, a prodigy. He talks of his quadruple somersault.

And Bruce Wayne watches.

He watches as the older man waves at the crowd, pats his son's shoulder and swings to the opposite side, hanging from his knees, arms outstretched, waiting. Dick grabs the trapeze and right before he goes off his mother leans in and whispers; “fly, my little robin”.

And so, he flies.

Bruce Wayne watches him as he goes up in the air and does four precise, clean spins before swiftly taking John's hands and swinging. The sight is _breathtaking_.

That boy is a fucking  _wonder_.

 “...And now that our little acrobat is safe, the Flying Graysons will perform their death-defying act... the triple spin... without a net, ladies and gentlemen!”

Dick stays on the side as the net is removed, Haly doesn’t seem to mind. Hell, he probably doesn’t mind anything when the kid lets him have the audience right on his hand.

Mary takes her son’s place on John’s hands, they swing forward, towards their boy, and right when everyone holds their breath-

Something snaps.

The ropes. The ropes snap. Bruce hears screaming, his fingers are suddenly numb, and he finds himself in a horribly _familiar_ situation. The child, Dick Grayson, he stretches his hands, his mother is reaching to him, screaming his name, John locks eyes with him.

And then they’re falling.

Somehow, in between the screaming, the sound their bodies make when they hit the ground remains perfectly audible.

There’s blood; so much blood on the floor. People are running out, yelling. Bruce Wayne is standing in the mist of it. Useless, it’s all so useless; he’s so useless if he couldn’t stop this from happening again.

He looks at the boy.

Dick Grayson, age nine, aerialist, a prodigy.

An orphan.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a lot of inspiration not only from the fanfic mentioned but also from Frank Miller's Allstar Batman & Robin, The Boy Wonder (Dick Grayson, age nine, blah blah, the snipers and some other things), from Detective Comics #38 and The New 52's Nightwing #0, as well as some things mentioned in the Nightwing (mostly pre New 52) run, and probably some other Batman comics, shows, movies and stuff. Thanks for reading, as always, and feel free to leave a comment!


	2. A stranger's coat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh.” Bruce watches as Dick bites his lip and his hand close tightly on his coat’s fabric. “Do you think- do you think someone will want me?”
> 
> “Of course,” he responds, too quickly. Why did he say that? He knows any kid above the age of a baby is very unlikely to get adopted, and yet, he can’t fathom the thought of someone not wanting this child.
> 
> or a complete ripoff of Firework with (some of) my own dialogue... I promise after Bruce talks to Alfred (probably next chapter) the plot won't be so damn similar

Working in the Gotham City Police Department it’s _not_ easy; particularly if you’re a rookie and have zero connections to the people you’re supposed to have connections with, and Tyler Ross knows _a lot_ about that. Still, an accident at the circus didn’t sound _that_ hard.

That is, until he found out the two acrobats who died had a son, and the son was missing.

Okay, not missing, exactly. In the midst of the chaos of people crying and other officers trying to question some of the witnesses, his partner had talked to the ringmaster (who was, very transparently, _freaking out_ ), and he hadn’t been pleased when he was told there was a kid. Mr. Haly said it wouldn’t be a problem; he’d just stay with them, and Eckhardt being Eckhardt just _had_ to voice his opinions about how Child Protective Services would never give custody to a freaking circus owner, and, of course, minutes later Dick Grayson is nowhere to be found. So now, in addition to checking out the scene, getting statements and what not, they have to look for a traumatized nine year old with, or at least he was told, unbelievable acrobatic abilities.

It’s going to be a _long_ night.

“Excuse me, officer?”

Tyler turns around, ready to bark at this random person to leave him alone with his headache or help check other weird places someone could hide in (I mean, they don’t have all night and some officers are too busy to help searching, so why not ask civilians to do a little public service?), but instead his words die in his throat as he stares at no other but billionaire Bruce Wayne.

“I-“he stutters, “yeah?”

There goes his dignity forever.

“Is there anything I can help with?”

Tyler is almost sure this is some sort of prank. Why is _Bruce Wayne_ asking him if he can help with anything? Is it some sort of weird way of getting publicity? But the reporters haven’t even managed to get in _._

“Well,” he pauses, “there’s that issue of not finding Dick Grayson”

_Smooth._

And so, Bruce Wayne searches for Dick Grayson.

Amazingly (not), he finds him. It took him more that he’d expected; the boy is excellent at hiding. He’s curled up in the branches of a tree, and even with the bright blue of his costume it’s easy to miss him; unless you’re Batman.

Bruce isn’t trying to be stealthy, and yet it takes him by surprise when the raven haired head turns to look at him with mistrust. He probably can drag him back easily, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stands still, and stares back.

Dick Grayson’s eyes are blue. A deep, beautiful shade of blue, contrasting his ever so slightly tanned skin in a rather nice way.

“Hello” Bruce greets, quietly.

There’s no answer; he can’t know whether to take is as encouragement or not.

So he decides to keep talking. “You know, when I was a bit younger than you, my father took me to this small fair, kind of like the circus right now. I never liked that sort of thing very much, but we hadn’t spent much time together; he was always so busy, so I agreed.” He pauses. He has no idea where the words are coming from, but Dick seems to be relaxing. “I remember most of it so well, crystal clear. I remember how sunny it was, I remember the sounds and the tastes, I even remember how I couldn’t win this silly toy I wanted. But...” he closes his eyes. Why is he talking about that day? He’s never even talked about it to _Alfred_ , “…no matter how hard I try, I can’t remember my father’s smile. Not clear enough, at least”

_Maybe I shouldn’t have said that._

Right after he finishes the thought, a small figure drops beside him gracefully. Dick looks up at him carefully, like he’s studying him. “Is your father dead?” he asks without hesitation.

“Yes” Bruce’s voice doesn’t crack, not anymore, it responds in a cold way. He’s too used to the pain to be racked by it at this point. “My parents died when I was eight”

“ _Why?”_ the question carries a lot more weight than just cause of death, but it’s all Bruce can give him.

“They got shot,” he looks away to the sky, “I was there, too, like you”

“I’m sorry.” And just like before, his words leave a heavy feeling in the air. For some reason, it sounds _sincere,_ in a way that no one else could have meant it.

“I’m sorry, too”

For a moment he thinks he’s done more harm than good when silence follows, but then Dick says something he wasn’t expecting.

“I think they were murdered, too”

It clicks a button inside of him, and his posture immediately tenses. “What makes you say that?”

“Someone was yelling to Mr. Haly before the show. He said something about how he was going to regret not taking the deal. I thought it was nothing… if… if I have just _said_ something-”

“ _Don’t_ ” his mouth opens without his permission. “Don’t think about what could have happened. Don’t think of all the things you could have done different. _Don’t_. It doesn’t lead anywhere, and, frankly, it probably wouldn’t have made that much of a difference.”

Dick nods, his hands had wrapped around his torso and he was shivering slightly. Bruce doesn’t really think about it, just takes out his coat and gently places it on the young boy’s shoulders.

“You have to tell the police” before the phrase is completely out, Dick is already nodding again, and then he comes to a sudden stop.

“I heard someone say that I can’t stay at the circus anymore” his voice is shaking. Bruce really doesn’t get how he’s not crying. “What’s going to happen to me?”

Something inside Bruce twists painfully. “A social worker will look for relatives; you’ll stay with one if they agree, and if they can’t find anyone you’ll become a ward of the state.” His answer is robotic and cold, and yet getting it out makes his throat sore.

“What does that mean?”

Bruce sighs internally. “It means you’ll go to a place with other… children like you, until someone decides to take you in as a foster son”

“Oh.” Bruce watches as Dick bites his lip and his hand close tightly on his coat’s fabric. “Do you think- do you think someone will want me?”

 “Of course,” he responds, too quickly. Why did he say that? He knows any kid above the age of a baby is very unlikely to get adopted, and yet, he can’t fathom the thought of someone _not wanting_ this child.

Why is he thinking that? He’s never even been a children person; most of them would probably weep if he stared at them for too long.

There’s another silence, but for some reason it doesn’t feel awkward. Dick takes two shy steps towards Bruce, and then just stays there, slightly pressed against his leg. At first, the older man can’t think of what to do, and finally resigns himself to place his hand on his shoulder.

“Do you have to take me to the police now?” his small voice asks, and _damn it_ , Bruce didn’t even think someone could make him feel like this.

“We can wait a little while, if you need to”

_Screw them._

Dick’s shoulder relaxes under his hand. “Thank you for… for _understanding_ ”

The word completes the puzzle immediately. He _understands._ Bruce understands; Dick understands. They understand each other, and he hadn’t even known he needed someone to do just that until that moment.

“Maybe I should thank you,” he whispers.

Of all the things that could’ve followed on the events of that night, a super famous wealthy guy finding a circus nine year old orphan wasn’t on Tyler’s top guesses. In fact, he’s pretty shocked to see said man coming back with the kid closely pressed against him, wearing a coat that is way too big (and, most likely, worth more than a house) for him. The most bizarre thing about the sight isn’t that, though, it’s the way Bruce Wayne is chuckling at the boy; he doesn’t have that I’m-so-rich-and-chicks-dig-me smirk, he looks real in a weird, unexpected way.

“Mr. Wayne” Tyler says, a little unsure. “You found him, thank you.” He immediately feels rude for not addressing Dick directly, so he turns his eyes down. “We were beginning to worry about you, kid”

 _Very_ blue eyes return the look. “Sorry” he whispers, and Tyler notices how he hides a tiny bit behind Bruce. “I got scared”

“It’s alright” Tyler reassures him, “I need you to come with me, if that’s okay, so we can sort everything out. Why don’t we go get some of your things? We’ll handle the rest later”

It’s already very late, and yet they question Dick anyway; Eckhardt insists it must be done as soon as posible, so they can bring him to CPS inmediately. Afterwards, Tyler lets Mr. Haly hug the child. He checks him up like three times, gives him a small backpack and wishes him good luck. “Oh, Dicky,” he keeps whispering, “I’m so sorry _, I’m so sorry_ ”

When Dick leaves, everyone is crying; everyone, except for the boy.

“Mr. Wayne” Dick says slowly, and Bruce is a little taken aback to be adressed by name.

“Please,” he attemps to smile at him, “call me Bruce”

“Bruce” the kid tries the name on his lips. It confirms that this is the man his mother told him would be there, maybe that's some sort of omen. “Will I ever see you again?”

Bruce hesitates just for a moment, and his own response takes him by surprise. “Soon.” He's not sure if he's lying. 

A faint smile places itself on the young features. Then he goes to sit on the car silently, holding unto his belongings. Tyler is making a call while opening the door, and Bruce stands right next to C. C. Haly. When they finally start driving away, the kid turns his head to look out, and fixes his eyes on Bruce.

He could’ve looked to anyone, and yet, he looked to Bruce.

_Let him go. Let it go._

He lets out a breath when he loses sight of them.

“Mr. Wayne?” Haly says, carefully.

He turns around to indicate he’s listening.

“Thank you.”


	3. Alfred's theory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...there’s something nagging at the back of his head, something about Bruce. He’s been acting weird lately, more distracted than usual, almost… distraught by something. Ever since he was told about the incident at the circus he’s had a theory forming in his mind, a wild unexpected reach, and this might just be the only time he can confirm or deny it.

Bruce doesn’t let it go.

Instead, he pays for the funeral.

The day that Mary and John Grayson are buried a heavy rain falls over Gotham, it pours above the umbrellas making a small choir of drops hitting plastic as their eulogy is spoken.

Alfred stands on the far corner, with Bruce at his side. He can barely hear what the priest is saying, but he doesn’t really care, there’s something nagging at the back of his head, something about Bruce. He’s been acting weird lately, more distracted than usual, almost… distraught by something. Ever since he was told about the incident at the circus he’s had a theory forming in his mind, a wild unexpected reach, and this might just be the only time he can confirm or deny it.

So as people start getting into their cars and goodbyes are being said, Alfred tells Bruce he’ll go fetch the vehicle that is parked a little far, but he doesn’t move from his place, instead he watches.

He watches as Bruce walks up to the kid, the poor child standing in front of his parent’s coffins, he watches as Bruce places a hesitant hand on his small shoulders. All the adults from the circus have sobbed their hearts out, and yet this child has not utter one complaint.

Dick Grayson. His name is Dick Grayson. Alfred doesn’t think he’ll ever forget that name.

He can’t hear their conversation from so far away, can’t hear Dick saying he’s glad he got to see Bruce again, can’t hear him silently return Bruce’s coat.

“No, please,” Bruce responds, “keep it.”

Dick hesitates. He feels odd carrying something that he knows must be more expensive than anything he’s ever owned, and yet he doesn’t really wish to return it. He’d considered just leaving it on his room, with his backpack, and pretend he’d forgotten about it, but then he’d felt bad, that would be like stealing.

But it has been keeping him warm at night. Somehow, it helps with the nightmares.

So he mutters a thank you, and holds the coat close to his chest.

He wants to say so many things. _Does it ever stop hurting?_ He wants to ask so many questions, wants to somehow escape from the world with this man that for some reason understands so many things.

But he stays quiet, all the words stuck on his throat, constricting it.

“How are they treating you?” Bruce is the one who speaks. “You can tell me the truth, maybe I could help.”

Dick feels himself blush slightly. He wants to tell the truth, wants to say how alone he feels and how everyone makes fun of him. “It’s alright.”

“Have you made friends?”

_They all call me names._

“Yeah, I’ve made a few. They’re nice.”

Bruce can tell something is wrong, but he doesn’t press it, he doesn’t feel he has the right to.

“I’ll tell you what,” he grabs something out of his pocket. A small business card. “If you ever need anything, just call me. I’ll take care of it.”

Dick takes it with trembling fingers. “T-Thank you, Mr. Wayne.”

He can’t help himself anymore, with a burst of bravery, he moves forward, and wraps Bruce into a hug.

Alfred watches the scene mesmerized. He watches as Bruce gently holds the child’s head and caresses his shoulders.

His theory is proven to be right.

He really ought to speak to Bruce about this.


	4. Heroes and criminals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A normal child wouldn’t have been able to jump to that high window, a normal child wouldn’t have been able to run six blocks with so many bruises and injuries.
> 
> Dick isn’t a normal child.

They call him a freak.

On the hallways, on the cold rooms crowded with beds and whispers, on the dinner hall and the big open yard.

“Circus freak,” “gypsy rat.”

The insults are thrown to him mercilessly, they stick to his skin and clothes like dirt, they tower above his shoulders, a weight he can never quite get rid of.

It’s been exactly four days since he left his home, since he lost the two people he loved most in the world, since he was placed on this horrid place he doesn’t belong in. The aching on his heart has not subsided, he still misses the hand of his father on his back, the forehead kisses of his mother, the sun lighting up the road, the morning practices, the elephants, Raymond… He feels their absence every waking hour, and yet he hasn’t shed a single tear.

He’s scared. Every single minute on the clock he’s terrified, on the days he’s scared of the inmates, of the older kids with rage on their eyes, and at night, he’s scared of the ropes snapping, of bodies hitting hard ground, of police men taking him away from his family.

Four days pass, and no one touches him.

They spit at his feet, they mock him, they push him and shove him, but for four days, Dick doesn’t get any bruises.

The fifth one, Dick accidentally runs into someone.

Before he can even say he’s sorry, a fist connects with his jaw and sends his head towards the wall. He staggers, manages to duck before the next punch connects, then a shout is heard, a guard runs towards them and tackles the other boy to the wall.

“You’ll pay for that, freak,” the kid snarls at him as he’s dragged away.

He doesn’t sleep that night.

On the sixth day, five of them burst into his room.

He tries to run, to jump past them, but they hold him back and push and shove him, he tries to fight, probably breaks one of the guy’s nose before he’s reduced to a ball on the floor. They kick him until he can’t breathe, until he’s gasping and coughing and his hands can’t hold him up.

And yet still, he doesn’t cry.

Instead he flees.

A normal child wouldn’t have been able to jump to that high window, a normal child wouldn’t have been able to run six blocks with so many bruises and injuries.

Dick isn’t a normal child.

He doesn’t know where he’s going, he just knows what he needs to get away from. Haly’s circus is no longer in the city, and so he’s utterly alone on the ruthless streets of Gotham, the sun slowly hiding against the buildings, the lights fading away.

He’s scared, he’s so, so scared.

But he does not falter, he keeps moving. He finds a small spot on a metal staircase, climbs there, and curls up in the corner. His stomach rumbles, his skin is burning against the cold wind, his legs are trembling, his arms are aching, and his breath is ragged and difficult.

Somehow, he manages to fall asleep.

He wakes up to someone screaming.

It takes him a moment to realize where he is, the sudden sound makes him instantly forget what he was dreaming, which is probably a good thing. Through the bars of the staircase, he sees a woman shouting and crying, a man has taken her wrists and is pushing her against the wall.

“Please,” she sobs, her voice filled with panic, “please, don’t-”

The man slaps her, hard, and Dick flinches at the sound. He extends a hand, and forcefully unbuttons her blouse.

Dick doesn’t really think on what he’s doing.

He doesn’t think how hungry he is, or how his muscles ache from running and from the freezing cold, he doesn’t think he’s bruised and battered, he just acts; he jumps from his hiding spot and lands a kick on the back of the man’s head.

Normally, he would’ve landed gracefully, but his legs protest when they hit the ground, and he falls to his knees. The man curses, and then turns back around, his furious eyes land on the small boy in front of him.

“What the-?”

He’s not able to finish the sentence. A shadow drops from above, and smashes him against the ground.

Dick had heard the rumors ever since he got into Gotham, but he’d never thought he’d actually see him. Batman is shrouded in darkness, but there’s no mistaking his cowl, the fluidity of his movements, he cuffs the man in two swift motions, and behind him, the woman screams, and runs off the alley.

Batman turns his eyes towards Dick, and even through the mask the boy can tell the vigilante is not pleased.

“Dick Grayson,” a tough, raspy voice speaks, “what are you doing out so late at night?”

So it’s true. Everyone on the city knows who he is, there really is no hope on going back to the circus.

He doesn’t answer, he can’t seem to find words.

“Don’t you know what happens to children who run around the streets at these hours?”

_Can’t be worse than Juvie Hall._

“They’re kidnapped, or killed, or sold, or-” the bat takes a step towards Dick. The child doesn’t move back. “They become criminals.”

He feels a bit defensive at the last part, and talks without thinking. “I would _never_ -” Never one of them. Never part of the people who murdered his parents.

Batman narrows his eyes, although from such a low light, Dick can’t really tell. “You’d be surprised to know what people do in order to survive, anyone can be a criminal.” He takes something out of his belt, a knife, maybe. “Or a hero.”

In the distance, he hears police sirens.

Batman extends his hand, giving him the knife he took earlier. Now, Dick can see it’s shaped like a bat. Even though he doesn’t use words, he understands the message.

_Tonight, you were a hero._

He takes it with trembling fingers.


	5. Difficult choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I could never give him what he needs.”
> 
> The older man inhales deeply. “I believe you can, sir.”

Alfred never thought he’d be giving advice, to Bruce of all people, on parenting.

And yet, this is something he needs to do, he’s been attempting to start a conversation about it, about that young child that lost his parents on the circus, but the man has been practically running away from him, either with his eyes glued to the screen on the Cave, or out on the streets fighting.

But Alfred is having none of it, not anymore.

He marches down to the Cave with conviction, stands behind Bruce, and clears his throat. Bruce might be Batman, but that doesn’t mean he can get away from a scolding.

“Master Bruce,” he says, and his tone lets out how this is not a request at all, “I ought to speak to you.”

Bruce doesn’t turn, but his hands stop typing. “I’m busy right now, Alfred.”

“I’m afraid it cannot wait any longer, sir.”

Bruce sighs, and slowly spins his chair to face his butler. Alfred straightens his back, and prepares to say what he’s been holding back for the last week.

“Ever since the terrible incident on Haly’s circus, you’ve been troubled. Do not argue with me, please, sir,” he adds when he sees Bruce open his mouth in protest, “I’ve raised you for many years, I can tell. It’s natural, of course, that this would bring up your own tragedy, given how similar were the circumstances. At first I thought it was simply an unpleasant reminder, but after the funeral of the Grayson couple, may they rest in peace, I’ve started to suspect it’s not just that.”

There’s a silence. Bruce adverts his eyes away from him.

“You care for the boy,” he finally dares to state, “you feel responsible for him, and you do not know what to do about it, so you’ve paid for all the arrangements, and you’ve worked tirelessly to search for the criminal behind this, and although your actions have been noble…” he steps forward, “…they have not fulfilled you. I fear you’ve done all this partially to appease your guilt, to feel slightly better that you have not actually taken care of the child, with all the consequences that would bring, and that is, forgive me, sir, quite cowardly.”

“Alfred-” Bruce closes his eyes.

“Please, sir, allow me to finish.” Another pause. “I understand that you might feel you’re not prepared to take on such a task, I am not telling you which decision you should make, but I will say you need to make one, and you need to prepare to face whatever it might mean. If you do not take him in, there is no telling what will come to be his fate, but you must be ready to accept it, and you will not have any right to blame yourself for it, for it is right now that you can choose to intervene, and help give him a better future. Likewise, if you do decide that you want to be a part of his life, you will never be able to back down, no matter how difficult things can get.”

Finally, Bruce looks at him again.

Anyone else would’ve said he looked indifferent, but Alfred could read the anguish on his features.

“I could never give him what he needs.”

The older man inhales deeply. “I believe you can, sir.”

“I have no idea how to be a father.”

“Then learn.”

Bruce doesn’t argue this time, just stares intensely at him.

Alfred looks back at him, and eventually starts walking to the Manor. “I shall await your decision, sir, do remember dinner will be served in half an hour.”

Only a faint “right” is heard.

Half an hour later, Alfred is pleasantly surprised to be asked to prepare a room.


	6. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly, all the pain and grief and anger and despair he’d been holding leave him in one second, and crying doesn’t hurt at all, instead it makes him relieved, hopeful, even, hopeful that things will in time be okay again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally, right?

Dick doesn’t go back into Juvenile.

Apparently getting beat up by inmates was what his social worker needed to get more people to back her up and move him somewhere else.

She apologizes on the car over and over, explains to him that the system is screwed, that the orphanages were all full and so, as procedures dictate, he was placed in a Youth Detention Center. Dick knows all this, he knows all this because she told him right before she left him at the doors of that awful place, promised him he would be out of there within a day, two maximum.

It took six, and a beating, but nevertheless, he’s grateful.

This time he’s sent to a catholic orphanage. It’s not his home, not by a long shot, but it’s a hell of a lot better than where he was before.

They still whisper at his back, they still stare at him and sometimes even outright insult him, but he’s not terrified of everyone anymore, even if sudden movements still make him flinch. The nuns are nice to him, and some kids have even offered him kind words.

Still, Dick can’t bring himself to smile.

He barely eats, or talks, he spends most of his time on his room, holding unto Bruce Wayne’s coat, and wishing he was somewhere else. Maybe it’s all that time he spent hoping to be rescued that brought one of the nuns to his room one day, to tell him that there were two people wanting to see him.

At first, Dick doesn’t acknowledge her, doesn’t look up, his face buried on expensive fabric. He imagines a couple, one of those nice people who want to take in a little kid, and even thought rationally he thinks he should care, that he should try to make a good impression, he’s too exhausted to move. After all, they probably won’t want him anyway, why would they prefer a circus freak filled with bruises over any other child?

All those thoughts are thrown off the window when he hears _his_ voice.

“It’s nice to see you again, Dick.”

His head shots upwards, disbelieving. Could it be? Perhaps he’s only having a nice dream for once. No, he really is there, Bruce Wayne, standing at his door, with an older man at his side. Maybe he’s only there to visit, maybe he shouldn’t get his hopes up.

But he can’t help it, he jumps off his bed and into Bruce’s arms, a delightful “Bruce!” resonates through the room.

At first, the nun, Sarah, is tempted to scold the boy. After all, not every day Bruce Wayne comes in and says he wants to adopt, and she doesn’t want him to get discouraged because the kid got too eager too soon, but she sees the way the billionaire responds, the way he sighs happily and gently but firmly holds Dick up. She’s starting to understand why he was so determined in asking for Dick Grayson and Dick Grayson only.

“Dick,” Bruce Wayne, says, a genuine smile appearing on his face, “I want you to meet someone.”

Still on his arms, Dick turns to see who the other person on the room was.

“This is Alfred, he takes care of the Manor, and its occupants.”

The man bows slightly, and speaks with a distinct accent, one that Dick recognizes as British, from London, maybe; “pleasure to finally meet you Master Richard, you’re all that has been on Master Bruce’s head for quite some time now.”

Dick feels a bit self-conscious when he’s being addressed as Master, although it doesn’t undermine how glad he is to see Bruce again. “Uhm, Dick is fine, sir.”

“Very well, Master Dick,” before he can protest, Alfred winks at him, as if to say _you’re not getting out of this one,_ “likewise, Alfred will suffice.”

“Dick,” Bruce brings his attention back. He suddenly turns serious, seems to be gathering his words. Dick gulps as he’s put down on the floor. He prepares for the worst. Maybe he’s here to say goodbye, _permanently_. “I- I want you to come with me… home. I want you to come home with me, if that’s okay, I’ll understand if- I don’t have a wife, or kids, and I’ve never been good at- I- …perhaps this isn’t what you want and-”

He lets the phrase trail off. Dick stares at him for a moment, unable to collect himself. Bruce wants to take him home? _Actually_ take him home? “You-” he manages to whisper, “you mean you want me to stay with you? You want… to adopt me?”

Bruce takes a deep breath. “Yes, yes, that’s what I mean.”

Dick hadn’t cried when his parents died.

He didn’t cry when he was beat up by inmates, he didn’t cry when he ran away, he didn’t cry at the funeral, he didn’t cry when he was taken away from the circus.

Which is why he’s surprised when tears start falling through his cheeks.

Bruce immediately looks panicked, glances at Alfred to silently ask _what did I do? What do I do now?_ But before he gets any answers, Dick throws himself back at his arms.

He buries his face on Bruce’s shirt, and sobs. Suddenly, all the pain and grief and anger and despair he’d been holding leave him in one second, and crying doesn’t hurt at all, instead it makes him relieved, hopeful, even, hopeful that things will in time be okay again.

After a moment, Bruce seems to be unsatisfied with just patting his shoulders, and out of the blue pulls him back up into a big hug. Dick rests his face on Bruce’s shoulders, and even Alfred is marveled when _the_ Batman starts speaking soothing words. “Shh, Dick, it’s okay, you’ll be alright, I’m going to take care of everything, if that’s what you want…” immediately he feels the small boy vigorously nodding, and the smile comes back to his lips.

Bruce isn’t a very warm person, Dick would soon learn that, but that single moment would come back on the days he felt lonely and misunderstood, when he felt that Bruce was indifferent to him, he’d recall the way he’d been held that day, the way Bruce had comforted him, and a sense of peace would wash over him.

A sense of hope.

A sense that things _can_ be okay again, even when it really looks like they can’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> by the way, I have absolutely no clue how adoption works or social work or Juvenile court or anything so... yeah, I made everything up  
> but Dick was placed on juvie hall according to the comics so... at least it works like that in Gotham


	7. True Stories from Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are you doing up so late, kiddo? It’s four in the-” he starts saying as he approaches, but as he comes close enough to see the tears on the child’s face, he stops. “You had a nightmare.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yesss finally i update! it's a short chapter because it's late, i was actually planning on writing the third night too but  
> yeah it's late, sorry

The first night on Wayne Manor, Dick doesn’t get any nightmares. It’s his first dreamless sleep since _then._

The second night is another story.

This time it’s different, though. Instead of cheers that turn into screams, instead of his mother shouting his name, of his father’s eyes right before they fell, instead of bones breaking and blood spilling, he dreams of rejection, abandonment, he dreams of Bruce Wayne leaving him at the doors of Juvenile Detention Center, and there’s no death, no murder, not even a sound, just cold eyes filled in disappointment.

Usually he wakes up screaming.

This time, he cries. He stirs back to reality with no sound, just tears falling to the pillow and panicked gasps of breath. For a moment he even feels guilty, shameful that his subconscious chose a different terror, when the tragedy he suffered was much, much worse. But that feeling is quickly buried in fear, and loneliness, and the stuffed elephant on his arms is not enough to calm him down.

Wayne Manor is huge. Dick isn’t really used to huge, especially when the sun is not yet out and the long hallways and big rooms are engulfed in darkness, when there isn’t any noise to indicate human presence. Because of all this, he’s reluctant to get up, but after five minutes of laying wide awake on his bed, sobs wrecking his small body, he decisively sets foot on the ground.

He runs through the hall with one destiny in mind.

After what feels like hours, he stops in front of a door, probably the only one he recognizes in the entire place, and hesitates. It’s late, he didn’t pay attention to any clock, but he’s almost certain it’s after midnight, and Bruce is a very busy man, and Dick really, really doesn’t want to see the look he gave him a few moments ago on real life. He turns to leave, but one glance to where he came from gives him the resolve he needs to shyly knock on the door.

No answer.

“Mr. Wayne?”

Another pause.

With his hand trembling, he opens the door slightly.

“Bruce?”

He dares to look inside, and finds, to his surprise, that there’s no one to be seen. The covers of the bed are well made, as if nobody had even laid there to begin with. But this _is_ Bruce’s room, he knows it is, he made sure to remember it.

Before he can question this unexpected turn of events any further, the sound of footsteps make him jump.

“Dick?”

He lets out a sigh of relief when he recognizes the figure of Bruce Wayne on the opposite end of the hallway.

“What are you doing up so late, kiddo? It’s four in the-” he starts saying as he approaches, but as he comes close enough to see the tears on the child’s face, he stops. “You had a nightmare.”

It’s not a question. Dick is grateful he doesn’t need to explain.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I didn’t want to be alone.”

Bruce shakes his head in disbelief. “Don’t apologize. How long have you been standing there? I’m the one who’s sorry, I was on the study working. Come on, let’s get you back to bed.” Dick opens his mouth, but he’s not sure what to say. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

He bites his lip nervously.

_Don’t. Don’t push it._

“Could you- could you read me something?”

Bruce seems to be taken aback by the question.

“Of course, but I don’t know if I have any children books around.”

“That’s okay,” he immediately answers, feeling guilty that he even asked for it, “anything is fine. Or nothing. It doesn’t-“

“Hey,” Bruce hesitantly puts a hand on his shoulder, “I’ll find something, let’s make a stop by the library and then we’ll go to your room.”

“Okay.”

Bruce reads him the first chapter of _The Little Prince._

It’s the happiest night Dick has had in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw the chapter title is referencing the little prince


End file.
